


I'm not at home with myself (I'm not at home with you either)

by songsaboutdrowning



Category: Florence + the Machine
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-11 05:24:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songsaboutdrowning/pseuds/songsaboutdrowning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isa gets a girlfriend. And it’s not Florence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Also known as: the longest title in the world. Title from “Don’t tell me” (demo version of “I’m not calling you a liar”, just in case there was someone who didn’t know that, which I doubt).
> 
>  **Setting:** the present
> 
> **Genre:** angst. seriously they will go through A LOT. Stick with me through it though. Please?
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** real people. work of fiction. do not mean to be disrespectful etc. no profit being made. just let me live in my happy little bubble ok? 
> 
> Originally posted at songsaboutdrowning on tumblr. xx

**I’m not at home with myself - part 1**

Beep.

_Florribleeeeeeeeeee!!!_

The one-word text tells Florence everything she needs to know. Isa’s back from her holiday, and she probably wants to meet up. She’s only been away for a week, but a week can feel like a long time when you’re normally together 24/7. She starts composing a reply:

_Misrabellaaaaaa_

_Welcome back!!_

_You on your way here??_

Isa rolls her eyes - there’s a downside to having your life mostly planned out for you like Flo does - you end up losing touch with reality. Isa’s not only not on her way back yet - in fact she’s not even disembarked. Shaking her head, she types:

_I’m literally still on the plane waiting for them to open the doors!! That’s what you get for flying low-cost I guess._

_I am shattered and need to CRASH!! I only saw off the bride and groom like 8 hours ago?? I’ll call you when I wake up ok? I have big newssss xxxx_

_Sure,_ Florence responds. _I’m home anyway_. As an afterthought she sends another text saying _talk later xx_ , then turns back to the book she’s reading.

The call arrives at 8 in the evening and Florence, not in the mood for pleasantries, picks up saying “You left me hanging for hoooooours! I’m gonna make you pay for it when you get here!”

“Why do I always have to come to you?” Isa moans, amused. “I’ve had maybe 10 hours sleep in the whole of last _week_ , and you’re asking me to get into a car now?”

“Because you drive and I don’t, and there isn’t anyone that can take me right now. _But -_ I promise I will make you tea and maybe we can order Chinese?”

“Hmmm. Make that an extra-large Domino’s and I’m there.”

Florence grins. “Deal. Get here soon. I can’t wait to see you!”

-

Isa shows up half an hour later with a small gift bag and a tan. When Flo comes to the door, she raises her arms and poses flamboyantly, announcing: “Did somebody order an Isa Machine??”

“God, you’re brown!” Florence observes with a tinge of jealousy. She grabs Isa’s hand and leads her into the kitchen, careful not to squash the present she brought. It’s getting darker at last, and the artificial light makes everything seem yellower, but not unpleasant; it reminds Florence of family dinners when she was a child in a way that feels intimate and comforting. Florence pours tea and milk for both of them and gets a pack of Digestives out from the cupboard, then she sits at an angle from Isa so they’re not too far apart.

“Sooo, what is the news?”

“God, do you care about anything else?” Isa rolls her eyes. “Open your gift.”

Florence unwraps the tissue paper to find a beautiful Venetian mask – this is not some cheap souvenir shop imitation, this is the real deal. It has feathers and is mostly black, but Flo can see reflections of dark blue and green in it, reminding her of the ocean and forests: two of her favourite things.

“Wow, this is amazing,” she comments, and holds it up to her eyes. Her mind is already a million steps ahead, trying to find a way to incorporate it into a show, or maybe a music video. But she doesn’t lose focus from the subject at hand. “Isa. The news??”

“Uhm, yeah, that. I met someone,” Isa says, a little self-consciously. “Her name is Lena.”

If Florence is surprised, she doesn’t show it. “Oh, ok. Tell all!”

It turns out, Isa really does have a lot to tell. Starting with an elaborate explanation of who Lena is in relation to the wedding party. Isa and the bride had a school friend who moved away to Manchester halfway through secondary school. The bride, Danielle, had stayed in touch with her through Uni and made her a bridesmaid. And apparently she had a makeup artist little sister, and roped her into helping out.

“ _Little_ sister?” Flo asks, taking a bite of her Digestive. “How little are we talking, exactly?”

“She’s… twenty-one.” Isa confesses, looking sheepishly into her tea.

“Isa!! She’s a _baby_!!” Flo exclaims, and if Isa wasn’t so brown, she’d probably be blushing.

“In fact, she turned twenty-one while we were there. Which is how the whole thing started, actually.”

Florence doesn’t know if it’s embarrassment or euphoria, but Isa’s accent seems to get stronger the more flustered she gets.

“Basically, we said we’d take her out for her 21st, and there’s like, fifteen of us, right? And we drive to this beach, like half an hour out of Venice, and we go to this cocktail bar. And the whole night Flo, the _whole night_ , this girl’s just staring at me. There’s fifteen of us and I’m talking to other people - and so is she - but somehow I _know_ she is staring at me, I feel it, she didn’t take her eyes off me for a second.”

“Well, what were you wearing?” Flo winks.

“Don’t be stupid, Flo, it was a beach. Shorts and a t-shirt. It’s not like I was trying to get noticed.”

Sometimes, though, there are other ways to get noticed, Flo thinks. Like Isa has this quiet intensity when she’s not completely engaged and then when she’s excited she’s a loud, boisterous force of nature. Florence is trying to picture it and guess which one Isa was that night.

“At one point, I go up to the bar, and she intercepts me, and says that she’ll buy me the next one. To which I say, I should be buying you a drink since you’re the birthday girl, and she replies, no let _me_ , since you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

“She _didn’t_.” Florence mocks.

“I know, it’s cheesy, right?” But Isa seems to like it, judging by the gigantic grin on her face.

“It worked, though.”

“Well, she did buy me a drink, if that’s what you’re asking. And then asked me if I wanted to go for a walk. And I kind of didn’t – seeing as I know her sister, _and_ I haven’t seen her since we were about 16. I don’t even remember ever meeting Lena, she would have been, what, _six_ when they moved away? And then I thought everyone would notice we’d gone off together, but I couldn’t find the guts to say no, it was her bloody _birthday_.”

“Shut up! You _loved_ the attention!” Florence teases, but not in a mean way. “I can just see you walking off with this girl and coming back really smug because you’ve pulled.”

“Nothing happened, you know, while we were there. I mean, she did kiss me when we got far enough from the lights, but I guess it’s a good thing I had a drink in my hand because then I couldn’t really do much else with my arms.”

Flo bursts out laughing. Trust Isa to use a plastic cup as an excuse for her uncomfortableness. As if she couldn’t have just thrown it in the sand, in the heat of the moment.

“Oh my God, Isa, since when are you so awkward???”

“Since I’ve got a girl ten years younger than me, who – wait for it – makes sure she gets in the same car as me on the way back, and starts running her hand _up_ my leg when I’ve got her sister sat on the other side of me!!”

Florence shakes her head. It is true that Isa always gets stuck between two other people in the backseat because she is so small. But there is one thing that still doesn’t make sense.

“How on earth did you go from this girl embarrassing you in front of people, to actually coming back and telling me you’ve met someone, like you are _with_ them?”

“Well,” Isa rests her forehead on the table to try and hide her self-consciousness, “the next night after dinner, Lena came to my bedroom. Oh my god, she has no shame. She comes to my bedroom and I open the door and she says ‘we never finished what we started’ and pretty much pins me up against a wall. She is a fucking good kisser.”

“And not just that by the looks of it!” Florence says with a tilt of her head.

“Yeah,” Isa purses her lips to prevent another grin from spreading out, “not just that.”

“So, sex with a girl – how is it?” Florence is no stranger to kissing girls, but she’s never really gone any further. She’s had some heated snogging sessions at parties, all whilst being heavily inebriated to the point she could hardly stand up straight, let alone engage in sex, and Isa knows that; in fact, she’s generally the one who shows Florence pictures the day after of what the hell she got up to that she doesn’t remember.

“It was so good. I just felt – so good. There was absolutely no sort of rush and she was just paying so much attention to me and that’s when I just started wanting more and more and more. She basically moved from her room into mine every night after that for the rest of the week.”

“I feel like _I_ should get myself a girlfriend now.” Florence comments, honestly curious. “Why not keep it as a summer fling thing though?”

“I dunno,” Isa admits, “I guess it’s kinda like she assumed we’d keep seeing each other and I just went with it. I dunno, maybe I’ve been single for too long.”

“I need to meet this girl!” Flo says gleefully, and throws her head back and laughs. Isa feels her heart warmed by the way Flo would laugh at just about anything. It makes life so much easier.

Keys turn in the lock and Grace’s voice calls for Florence.

“Grace!” Flo shouts back. “Isa has a girlfriend!”

Grace peeks her head in the doorframe and offers a “Well done, I guess?” before asking if there’s anything for dinner.

“Isa wants pizza. Can you call Domino’s while I tease her a bit more?”

Isa rolls her eyes again and sets about figuring out a way to make these two meet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Cranking up the angst in this one. Please don’t hate me. All will be resolved in due time._

**I’m not at home with myself - part 2**

The occasion arrives early enough. Isa throws a girls-only movie night at hers. They have them quite often, but this time there’ll be the addition of Lena and, so it’s not too awkward for Florence and Grace, Isa also invites a couple of other mutual friends: Sophie, Flo’s other best friend, and an ex of Rob’s that they’re all still friendly with, Phoebe.

Florence and Grace arrive with a case of booze each and Florence in particular thinks she’ll need it, since they insist on watching horror films, which she hates. Tonight’s movie choice is “The Orphanage”, a Spanish psychological thriller that Florence is most certainly not looking forward to. She does, however, want to meet the infamous Lena, but when it’s her who comes to open the front door, Florence experiences an estranging reaction.

Lena is simply stunning. In a simple plaid shirt, white top and shorts, she looks like the poster girl of a Hollister store – straight, brown hair, piercing blue eyes that only need minimal makeup to stand out, and freckles. She looks much younger than twenty-one, too. Putting a face – not just a face, a real, _whole_ girl made of flesh and blood - to the name, Florence suddenly feels insecure.

“Hello, you must be Lena”, she says, trying to free one of her hands from underneath the wine box she’s carrying. She doesn’t manage, though, so she waves awkwardly from under the case.

“You must be Flo”, Lena greets in return, which is a ridiculous thing to hear when in the space of the last few months your face has been constantly featured on the cover of magazines, television, and posters all over London.

Florence seems to have forgotten how to move or simply just keep a conversation going, and only Grace walking right into her with her own 6-pack of cider shakes her from her reverie. She lets herself into the flat and goes straight to the kitchen to drop off her wine, shouting “Did somebody order a Florence Robot?”

-

It is tradition for them to sit in front of the sofa rather than on it, which suits Sophie and Phoebe just fine, as they have a three seat sofa to share between the two of them. Lena sits in between Isa’s legs, which works out oddly due to their height difference: Isa gets her to lean back slightly and rests her chin on Lena’s shoulder and settles that way. That’s when Florence first acknowledges something is weird. Isa kissing girls is fine; Isa having sex with a girl is also fine, but a female presence in Isa’s arms is odd because it’s generally Flo who lets Isa sit between her legs that way.

As the scaredy cat in the group, Florence has been banned from holding a bowl of popcorn, ever. Too many times she’s tipped one over herself as she recoiled in horror, but right now she’s really wishing for something to distract her. As a child appears on the screen with a sack mask on his face, instinct tells her to huddle up to Isa, but as she turns to her left she realises there is no room to do so, leaving her in an embarrassing predicament. She hides her face in the small gap between Isa’s shoulder and Lena’s arm, and thinks _fuck, I can’t actually do this anymore_.

Unable to stand her sister’s public humiliation, Grace coos “Florence, you idiot”, and pulls her back the other way, enveloping her in a hug.

For the rest of the film, Florence doesn’t make a sound – not even when she’s scared.

-

Grace tries to breach the subject on their way back home, in the most tactful way she can possibly think of. It’s evident that Florence is upset, so there’s no point asking her if she is and why. Grace just asks how she’s feeling, and Florence is free to lie if she wants to, but she doesn’t.

“It’s weird,” she says, appreciating that she doesn’t have to explain what she’s referring to. Thank God for Grace.

The way Florence rationalises it, is that before tonight, everything she was hearing about Lena was only in her mind, so she thought she was ok with it. The truth of the matter, however, once things unfold in front of her eyes, is that this is a very big change to her everyday life, and one she knows she doesn’t like. She knows that this feeling is jealousy, but she can’t justify it; plus, she’s never felt it before with any of Isa’s boyfriends.

She is relieved that Isa is not the type to ask “so, did you like her?”, because that would embarrass her. It’s not that she didn’t like Lena – there is absolutely nothing wrong with the girl – it’s just that she doesn’t like what it did to the dynamics between her and Isa. And if it did that for one night, imagine it happening every day?

Flo feels a pang of guilt for being so self-centred and putting her own, sacred friendship with Isa above anything else – even above Isa’s own feelings, apparently. Guilt doesn’t agree with her, besides being the inspiration for world famous hits, so she tries to distract herself by spending as much time with other people as she possibly can. Grace, already her shadow, doesn’t leave her side for a moment. They move into the same bedroom and spend every night talking into the wee hours of the morning until Flo finally falls asleep mid-conversation.

Isa’s still going to parties, band meetings, business meetings, obviously. It wouldn’t be Florence and the Machine without the Machine. They talk, they joke, and Florence does a great job of pretending that she doesn’t have a care in the world. It takes a lot of energy out of her, but she has to do it for Isa. She will not let herself ruin Isa’s happiness by casting a shadow over it. She could never do that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confrontation.

**I’m not at home with myself - part 3**

About six weeks later, Lena leaves for a job in Ireland that will keep her busy for a few days, so Isa thinks it’s time to have a Florrible&Misrabella night in. She hasn’t really had time to notice anything different in Flo’s behaviour, but she’s missed spending time just with her like mad. Having a girlfriend can be quite consuming, in ways she didn’t know. Lena is hinting at moving in with her or finding a place together, even - as if Isa would leave her beloved flat.

Movie night is really just an excuse to not think about all this for a while and go back to old-fashioned escapism with her best friend. Isa buys enough Haribo to fill a bathtub and makes a selection of Florence-friendly DVDs to watch – no horror films this time.

When Florence knocks, Isa expects to find her overexcited and probably already tipsy, which is what she’s used to, and she’s unprepared for this awkward, contained Flo who just stands there with her hands crossed in front of her and says hi. It’s like she’s forgotten how to be in Isa’s presence, but when Isa tells her one of her selections is a Gilmore Girls omnibus, she seems to come back to life.

They end up watching “Easy A” eventually, in their usual formation of Florence with her back against the sofa and her legs wrapped around Isa.

Isa’s hair smells unfortunately amazing and from her vantage point, Florence can see slightly down her shirt. It’s ridiculous to think how often they’ve seen each other half naked – in dressing rooms, at the beach, on stage even, but Florence has never quite appreciated the curve of Isa’s collarbones like she does now. This is suddenly taboo and yet she’s never wanted it more.

She’s been vaguely aware of this newfound desire in the last couple of weeks, and it’s nagging at her. She feels like she should say something. Address it in some way. The wine isn’t helping. They’ve already gone through a bottle and started on their second. Sometimes, when she is intoxicated, Flo can’t stop herself from saying things that are very inappropriate or awkward, and she knows she’s heading that way tonight.

“Isa?” She breaks the silence. “Question for you: why not me?”

Isa wishes she could feign ignorance, ask “why not you what?” but she knows _exactly_ what Florence means and she also knows the million possible answers to that question, none of which ring entirely true. It’s not that Florence never gave her any indication she might like girls; hell, Isa’s taken more pictures of Flo kissing girls at parties than the paparazzi. It’s not the age difference: just look at her and Lena now. Saying she doesn’t want to ruin their friendship would be terribly cliché and she would hate those words coming out of her own mouth, but she also knows Florence will not let go unless she has an answer.

The truth is, Isa had never really considered having a relationship with a girl until it happened, and now that it’s happened, she can’t deny she _has_ wondered how things would be different if it was Flo she was with. Now that the ice is broken as far as sex and relationships with girls are concerned, she  can actually picture herself in those situations with Flo. Putting that into words is really hard, though, and she doesn’t really want to give Florence too much hope by admitting she has, in fact, considered the possibility. So she answers the question with another question.

“Why did you have to say this now?”

Isa grabs the remote and pauses the film, spinning around so that she’s facing Florence. Expectant.

“What do you mean, now? What difference does it make when I say it?” Florence frowns.

“I mean now that we were having a nice night in and for a couple of hours I could feel like I wasn’t _trapped_ , Flo. It’s confusing enough having to be with a girl. There’s a whole set of rules that you don’t even know about. Things are different.” Isa’s met a couple of Lena’s gay friends. They are all living together with their girlfriends, which is why Lena is kind of urging her to do the same.

“What the fuck are you talking about? What _rules_? You’re either in love or you’re not. Doesn’t seem that complicated to me.”

Florence is dead serious: her usual, characteristic breeziness is nowhere to be seen. No hint of a smile on her face, not even one of encouragement. Isa is basically being dared to say whether or not she’s in love with Lena. And she doesn’t know. The problem is, she honestly doesn’t know.

“Are you?” Florence presses, cross.

“Florence,” Isa chokes on her words, and comes up with something she’d never thought she’d say in all their years of friendship. “You’re hurting me. I’m fucking confused, ok?”

That seems to shake Florence from her mood, and her eyes widen as she takes in what she’s done. If she ever wanted to be attractive to Isa, she’s just gone and blown it for the rest of her days. Then again, that’s what they say – you always hurt the one you love.

“Come here,” Florence says, opening her arms. Her voice has gone back to its usual soft notes. “I am so sorry. You have to believe me. I am so terribly sorry and I cannot believe how awful I’ve just been. I don’t suppose there’s a chance you can forget it?”

Isa giggles through her tears, face buried in Flo’s shoulder. She’s not quite sure what to make of Florence’s outburst, it sounds like she’s jealous. And she wants to point that out, and laugh about it, but she doesn’t think there’s anything funny about it anymore. Florence seems to honestly be in just as much emotional pain as Isa herself.

“Let’s start that again, ok?” Isa says, sliding out of the embrace. “You’re asking me, why not you. Are you saying you want to be with me?”

Florence’s mouth hangs open. “I guess I am,” she responds, almost against her will. This is the first time she admits it, to herself or anyone else. She wishes she could turn back time and at least come to terms with it herself before going any further; but no, the first time the words leave her mouth, her brain, the first time they are spoken out loud, she’s not alone. Isa is there to hear them.

They’re both surprised. And they don’t have a clue what to do with it. “This makes everything even worse,” Isa whines, but she’s not accusing anyone, simply stating a fact. She crosses her legs and rests her forehead in her hand.

“This is a lot of information to take on,” she continues.

“As is the fact you don’t seem nearly as happy as I thought you were.” Flo whispers softly. “I am so sorry.”

She wraps her arms around her knees. If Isa could read her thoughts now, she could see that Florence is repeating to herself, _you wouldn’t feel like this if you were with me. There would be no stupid rules, nothing different. We could be in love, we could be deliriously happy. We would be what we’ve always been, only I could kiss you and hold you whenever the hell I want and I could go to sleep with you every night and make you feel like the most fucking special person in the world, because you are._

“Florence.” Isa says, staring at her from her spot on the floor, jaw dropped. 

Flo isn’t used to Isa calling her by her full name, and when she looks up and sees Isa’s expression of pure shock, she freezes.

“Shit. I just said all of that out loud, didn’t I.”

She cannot believe herself. Blood rushes to her head and she feels like she’s going to faint. She has basically bared her soul to Isa in under five seconds flat. For someone who’s known her for years and years and calls Isa her best friend, she’s sure got a great deal of thoughts that Isa was never privy to.

“I think I should go,” she says, scrambling to her feet, her eyes already welling up at this unbelievable humiliation. 

Isa doesn’t move from the floor, and whispers, “Maybe it’s best. I think I need time to figure out what the hell is happening with my life. Time alone, I mean. Starting now.”

She’s not looking Flo in the eye, doesn’t want to see her cry, because it would break her resolve. She hears, more than sees, Florence rummage around to retrieve her handbag, her blazer, her sunglasses. Then, from the hallway, Florence quietly says goodbye and goodnight, and the door slams shut.

-

Isa sits, paralysed, for what feels like hours, but a quick look at her watch tells her it’s hardly been twenty minutes. The sound of the door closing still echoes in her head and her chest. She finally brings herself to switch off the tv and DVD player (now that’s a film she’ll never see in the same way again). She picks up the wine glasses and, after a moment of hesitation, drinks the leftovers from both. She feels the need for a cigarette to calm her nerves, but she doesn’t have any, so she begrudgingly sets off to find an open off-licence. She grabs a jacket and accidentally looks out the kitchen window, when something catches her eye.

Florence is sitting at the bus stop across the road.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was posted the day after Florence and Isa tweeted the photo of them kissing. My original note to this chapter was: _I always think of this as a really dramatic chapter but it won’t matter now that real life is better than fanfiction._

**I’m not at home with myself - part 4**

“There are no buses from here to your house, you know.” She says. “There are no night buses from here at all.”

Florence looks up like she hasn’t heard Isa approach at all. The alcoholic euphoria has started to fade into that daze-like state where she doesn’t care about things, and right now, that’s a very welcoming bubble to remain in.

“Come upstairs, Flo. I’m too drunk to drive you back. Just stay over.”

“I thought you needed time?” It’s not spiteful; Florence is genuinely asking, and maybe hoping that Isa’s changed her mind.

“You’re still my best friend, Flo. I’m not having you freeze to death and it be my fault.”

She says this knowing Florence has an aversion to sleeping alone and with the lights off, and that her staying automatically means they will have to share a bed. That’s what they’ve always done, and now it suddenly feels forbidden. She’d offer to sleep on the sofa, because she’s smaller, but she knows that won’t fly by Flo. 

All the nights they’ve spent in each other’s arms on tour have always been dismissed as “girly antics” by the boys. They kind of assume Florence and Isa have a special bond as the only two females in the band, and no one ever really stops to analyse it further. Now that there are no tour buses and hotel rooms as an excuse, though, Isa has to face the truth – she wants to share a bed with Florence because she  _ likes _ to, and once again that’s what she’ll do.

She’ll worry about the rest tomorrow morning.

-

The iPhone on her bedside table vibrates and wakes her up abruptly. Isa opens her eyes but she can’t figure out what time it is. Somewhere underneath that mass of red hair, Florence is still asleep, although she doesn’t look proverbially peaceful – even in her sleep, she looks exhausted and troubled. As Isa rolls over to check her phone, a hand clasps around her wrist and Florence mumbles “Don’t leave…”

Isa feels for her phone with her other hand and learns two things: one, it’s ten in the morning; two, she still has a girlfriend.

Flo wakes up a couple of hours later in an Isa-less bed. The flat is strangely silent, except for the cars out on the street.

“Isa?” Flo calls out, getting up to look for her. Barefoot, she walks back through the lounge and into the kitchen, where she finds a note held in place by an upside down teacup.

 _Gone to the shloft_ , it says. _Come join me when you wake up. Xx_

She’s not even sure why Isa would want to see her after last night. Doesn’t she think it’s going to be awkward? Florence has basically confessed to having feelings for her that Isa can’t do anything about, but Isa seems to be behaving like nothing is out of the ordinary.

She still loves her, and Isa’s most definitely still her best friend, but Florence isn’t really in the mood to see her right now. Besides, if she were to compose any music right now, it’d be about Isa herself. In fact, every time she’s going to want to compose a song about unrequited love from now on, Isa will know who it’s really about. Flo looks around for her phone and finds it on the sofa - dead. She was going to tell Isa she’d be going home, but now she has no way of doing so.

-

Isa sits at her keys with a notepad on her lap and her phone propped up on a speaker. Everytime it buzzes, she scrambles to grab it, only to be met with a message from Lena, who’s returning to London today. Florence seems to have disappeared off the face of the planet, and Isa wonders if she shouldn’t just go back to her flat and make sure she’s ok.

She’s not really doing much, at least not with any sense of purpose. She alternates playing a couple of chords of something she knows with doodling on her notepad with writing some words and short phrases. She gets up, makes an instant coffee, and hums to herself. She looks out the window feeling the warmth inside her as if it was a cold winter day. But it’s summer and it’s warmer than summers have been the last couple of years and she isn’t really alone, just running away.

When her phone finally rings, it’s about two o’clock. Flo’s name and face on the display fill her with relief and dread at the same time. At least she’s alive. That’s a good start.

“Hey,” Florence says, “I’m so sorry that I’m only calling now, I just got home. My phone died. I was going to tell you I was coming here, but I couldn’t. I put it on charge the minute I got in. Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad, you wally,” Isa whispers back. “We don’t _have_ to spend every waking moment together. I just had a moment, you know? Of feeling like the walls were closing in on me and I needed to get out and be by myself.”

Florence can kind of understand that, although she herself hates being alone with her thoughts for too long. It never seems to have any positive effects, aside from writing good lyrics. But she assumes that Isa might have wanted to give her some time to decide what her next move was going to be; after all, it was Flo who had set this landslide into motion.

“Ok, well,” Florence pauses, like she’s struggling to find something to say, “I’m sorry that I couldn’t join you. I just – I kept in mind what you said last night, you know, about needing time. And space, I guess. I thought, we might as well start with this thing straight away, you know?”

“Ok, babs.” Isa replies, although she does not feel ok about it at all. “But know this: I love you. You know that, right?”

“I do know that,” Flo’s voice breaks and Isa has to shut her eyes really tight to hold back tears. “That’s kind of the whole problem, I think. I love you too. I suppose there’s no need for me to specify that anymore.”

Unseen, Florence bites her lip at how awkward all of this has become. How exposed she is, now that she’s been forthcoming with her feelings for Isa. It’s a step that cannot be unmade, and she’s not sure it was worth making in the first place.

They say their goodbyes and hang up. Five miles apart and without the other there for comfort, they both give in to tears.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original notes from when this chapter was posted: _This is shortish but it feels kind of relevant with all the talk that’s going round of OMG FLORENCE AND ISA KISSED DOES THIS MAKE THEM LESBIANS?_

**I’m not at home with myself - part 5**

“When did you know you liked girls?” Isa asks Lena that night. They’re in her flat – the one she was sharing with Flo less than 24 hours ago, on the exact same sofa where – or in front of which, rather - they had their heart to heart. Soon they’re going to be sleeping in the same bed Isa shared with Flo last night; in fact, Isa wonders if Lena will be able to smell Flo on the pillow or simply find a bright red hair on it and throw a fit.

“I’m not gonna lie and say I’ve always known,” Lena says, in her slight Northern lilt, “but I guess I was about 13 or so? When my best friend had her first boyfriend and I was insanely jealous. It wasn’t just a sense of abandonment and that she wanted to spend time with him more than with me. It was that I realised I wanted to be the one snogging her. It was pure jealousy.”

Isa is silent, shocked by how much of that is relevant to her and Florence now. It doesn’t matter the fact they are grown women, it sounds a lot like the same sort of feeling that triggered Flo into telling Isa she wanted to be with her. Isa’s already been a teenager once; to live through that level of drama again would be cruelty and yet she feels inescapably wrapped up in it.

Isa tries to imagine if the roles were reversed – if Flo suddenly brought a girlfriend into the group – not just someone she snogged once or a one night stand, but a steady presence. Her thoughts are interrupted, though, when Lena says “What about you?”

“What about me what?” Isa asks, puzzled.

“When did you know you liked girls?”

“I didn’t. I never really gave it much thought, actually, until you kissed me.” That was true. Wanting to kiss a girl, maybe; but to _like_ one? To mark a difference between a fleeting curiosity and a steady attraction?

“Are you going to play the ‘I’m straight, I just like _you_ ’ card on me?” Lena teases.

Isa doesn’t like where this conversation is going. She is more than willing to discuss this topic, but there are so many thoughts running through her mind that she feels like she first needs to put them in some sort of order - alone. And short of kicking Lena out of her flat, there is no way she can be alone right now, which adds to her frustration. She has to muster all her strength just to say that no, she is not playing that card, and she keeps to herself the part where she thinks the problem is exactly that she doesn’t like _just_ Lena. She begs her for an early night and, when they are in bed, she doesn’t know if Lena can smell Florence on the pillow, but Isa certainly can.

-

A week passes and Florence scores a date. With a girl. Grace is the only one who knew she would attempt this. Armed with both pain and curiosity, Florence could only go and find herself a substitute for what she wishes she had with Isa. 

She’s acting like there was no other possible option. Her explanation to her younger sister was just, “What do you do when you tell your best friend you have feelings for her and she turns you down? You _ move on _ .” 

Considering no one in the band even knows what happened last week at Isa’s flat, it makes sense that Florence isn’t telling anyone this: she needs to find a distraction, and quickly. Someone who will take her breath away and discover new things with her and make her feel completely spellbound and intoxicated.

Grace is not the kind of person who will categorise her sister’s behaviour into “right” and “wrong”; she just chalks all of it down as “human”. Besides, there is nothing new with Florence kissing girls. The new thing is, she has actually taken this girl’s number and asked her out. So what if she looks a little bit like Isa, with her long blond hair and grungy makeup?

If things go well, Flo will tell Isa somehow, and Isa will be happy for her. But she can’t tell Isa beforehand, because it would almost seem like an ultimatum. _I’m about to go find someone else, so stop me if you care._ That’s not like Florence, or Isa for that matter. Petty blackmail has never been a defining trait in their friendship.

What Florence hasn’t forecast, is her date being immortalised by the paparazzi. Suddenly, it’s out of her control how Isa finds out. And of course, less than 12 hours later, Isa does find out, when Lena comes back from a morning run with freshly baked doughnuts and a copy of the Metro.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I reveal myself a wizard and post about Isa reading the metro on the day Isa tweeted “lol to the metro” except fictional Isa has got fuck all to lol about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am fairly sure Club 24 no longer exists but I don’t exactly go clubbin ~~with the rich and famous~~ ~~_or in general_~~ so what do I know...

“Issy,” Lena calls out, using her own special name for her girlfriend, “looks like your BFF is following in your footsteps,” she smirks as she tosses the paper onto the coffee table.

Isa reaches out to see a picture of Florence hand in hand with another girl. The caption says: _singer Florence Welch leaves Club 24 in Carnaby Street last night with a mysterious blonde. Our sources say they couldn’t keep their hands off each other and made no mystery that they were going home together to the singer’s house in Camberwell._

__

Isa realises too late that her eyes have filled with tears. She can’t stop herself; she can’t avoid Lena noticing. All the conflicting feelings that have plagued her in the last week bubble up to the surface. It doesn’t help that Lena has no idea that a certain conversation with Florence even happened, a few days ago, in this very room.

“You know, I did wonder if you had feelings for her, and you’ve just confirmed it.” Lena says, defeated. Isa wonders if this was a test she just failed, but Lena looks honestly upset and not at all like she was coaxing her girlfriend to admit feelings for someone else.

“I didn’t know I did until a couple of days ago.” Isa confesses, not wanting Lena to think she has been led on for two months. She holds back her sobs as she wipes big, warm tears from her cheeks. _I’ve lost them both now_ , she thinks. Maybe this was a bad idea from the start.

She feels worse when Lena sits next to her on the sofa and wraps her in a cuddle. It’s weird being comforted by the girl whose heart she’s just broken. Isa should be the grownup, the adult, the more experienced one. But she’s just messed things up with two people, whose fault in both cases has only been to be honest with her.

“I’m sorry,” Isa says, her voice croaky. “I’m just figuring things out as I go along.”

“You seem to have forgotten that I’ve been there.” Lena reminds her.

“No: your best friend was with some boy at age _thirteen_ and you were jealous. _My_ best friend told me she loved me and then -”

“She _what_? When did this happen?” Lena jerks back, and puts some distance between herself and Isa.

Isa feels her face prickle with a blush. “Last week. She told me last week, while you were away. I’m sorry, I should have told you.”

“And what did you say to her?” Lena asks, not sure she wants to know the answer.

“That I needed time to think things over.”

Lena sighs, grateful that nothing more happened between them than a chat. She couldn’t have coped with it otherwise. But it still seems like a low blow on Florence’s part: not the fact that she apparently told Isa she loved her, but that just a week later she was seen having fun with somebody else. Even now, Lena’s still putting Isa’s well-being before her own, and judging by how upset she looks, Florence’s actions have hit her hard.

“She’s trying to make you jealous.” Lena declares.

“What, Florence? No. She isn’t.” And that has to suffice. Because Isa knows Florence well enough and there’s not a single bad bone in her body. She’s not trying to hurt Isa: this is her way of moving on. Isa _knows_ ; she’s seen Flo with a broken heart before.

“Oh my god,” she gasps, realisation washing over her. “I broke Florence’s heart.”

“And now she’s broken yours,” Lena points out. She reflects for a while, then says, “I’ve always known you were out of my league.”

“Don’t be stupid. The only league I’m in, is the League of Royal Fuck-ups,” Isa responds self-deprecatingly.

Lena shakes her head. “Issy, it’s ok to be confused.”

“Even at nearly 32?” Isa asks, in a small voice.

Lena gives her a sad smile. “ _Especially_ at nearly 32. Issy, I meant it when I said you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. Inside and out. It’s no wonder everyone wants you.”

“Everyone being two people,” Isa deadpans, in that way of hers that makes a statement sound like a question.

“Well, it kind of matters that one of the two people is Florence-and-the-fucking-Machine.”

Isa chuckles. This does not feel like a break-up. Or maybe it’s just that the huge weight on her shoulders is being lifted, and all the lifting’s being done by Lena, making this much easier for her.

Still, Lena’s silly if she thinks Isa would pick Florence over her just because Florence is the famous one, with the career and the money and the number one albums. In her heart, of course, she’s already picked Florence. But the Florence she’s picked is the Florence that doesn’t have stylists or four-thousand-pound handbags. It’s the Florence who jumps out of trees and doesn’t brush her hair in the morning and looks beautiful in just a bit of mascara and lippy.

Isa curls up in a ball, pensive. Lena looks up at her with a raised eyebrow and, to lighten the mood, says, “I still get to claim I had you first.”

Isa grabs the nearest cushion and hits her with it, biting the thumb on her other hand. Lena feigns shock and hits back with a different cushion, and Isa actually allows herself to laugh.


	7. Chapter 7

“Hey, it’s Isa. Can you call me back please? It’s kind of urgent. Thanks, bye.”

She ends the call and looks at her screen, where she already has two missed calls from Florence. In a desperate gesture, she has deactivated her voicemail. One, she knows Flo hates leaving voicemails, and two, she’s not ready to hear her voice yet. Grace better call her back soon.

Lena has forced her to leave the flat, claiming it’s best if she’s not alone when she’s so upset and unstable. But also, because she partly imagines that Flo could barge in at any minute and Isa’s not equipped to see her and speak to her yet.

Fact is, Isa might have admitted feelings for Florence but it’s entirely possible that Florence has changed her mind, gone for another girl, and won’t come back. Lena doesn’t know how to verbalise this – and doesn’t want to plant the seed in Isa’s mind that things might go wrong. Even if Florence and Isa love each other, this isn’t necessarily going to be easy: for starters, Isa needs to convince Flo that she’s changed her mind, and Flo has to believe her.

Isa’s phone buzzes on the tiny table they’re sharing in a crappy high street deli. Lena catches a glimpse of Grace’s name and photo on the display before Isa picks up.

“Hey.” Isa says, sounding tired.

Not one to beat around the bush, Grace replies, “Hey. Let me guess, you’ve seen the Metro?”

“I have. I need… I need to ask you some stuff, if that’s ok. Are you alone now?” Isa asks, in her musical accent. Lena smiles. She’s lived here three years and she still finds Isa’s cadence foreign.

“Yeah, I’m not at home. We can talk. You sound dreadful, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Isa rolls her eyes. “It’s not been an easy week. As I’m sure you know.” She assumes that Grace would know about what happened at their movie night: Florence tells her absolutely everything.

“What’s going on, Iz? Florence came home that afternoon and cried for like two days straight. I know what you talked about - and I’m not blaming you for any of it, by the way,” Grace adds, hastily, “I don’t want to sound like I’m moaning, I’m just tired.”

Isa can imagine that being true. Florence is hard work to be around at the best of times, but she’s even worse when heartbroken: she needs constant distraction; it’s like caring for a child. Which is what Florence is like most of the time, anyway.

“I’m sorry if you got caught in the middle, Gracie. Thing is, I’ve just had two missed calls from her, and I _do_ want to speak to her, you have no idea how much. But… would you know what she was ringing me about? Why now?” Isa wishes Lena would make herself scarce, right about now. As if on cue, Lena gestures she’s going outside for a smoke.

“I think she assumes you’ve seen the Metro, Iz, and she wants to apologise for not telling you in person.” Isa tries to focus on Grace’s voice and shut out the noises from the cafe and the street.

“This thing though, with this girl… is it serious?” She asks, with a sinking feeling in her chest.

“ _Serious_? Oh, Isa. They’ve been on _one_ date. You don’t actually need me to answer that question.”

Isa can imagine Grace eye-rolling right now, but her question was totally legitimate. Florence has been known to go from nothing to madly in love in the space of a few days, and Isa just needed to know.

“I just – I know what you’re going to say, that this isn’t any of my concern, but she’d apologise for not telling me, right? Not because she went out with someone else. I just – I don’t know how to tell her that it’s me she should be with, Grace.”

Silence. It seems to last for a lifetime, as Grace appraises Isa’s words. “What happened to Lena, Iz?”

“Yeah, that’s… not going anywhere.” She lowers her voice. “I can’t believe she had to tell me I was in love with Florence. I couldn’t see it myself.”

“You’re _in love_ with Florence??” Grace sounds genuinely surprised at this. Ok, so at least _someone_ hadn’t seen this coming.

“Ugh. It’s fucking confusing to explain. Also, I think I’ve said ‘confusing’ more times in the last week than I have in my entire lifetime.” Isa makes a poor attempt at lightening the mood. “Let’s just say, those photos on the Metro sparked a reaction that they shouldn’t have, if it was _just your best friend_ you were seeing in the paper.”

“I get that,” Grace says. Always in control. Never phased. “It’s the same that Florence went through when she saw you with Lena, Iz. Hopefully you understand it now.”

The words hit Isa like a punch to the gut; like a wave of self-hate for making Florence feel like that for nearly two months. And yet, she couldn’t help it. She didn’t know she’d be feeling like this herself soon enough; didn’t know how horrible and hollow it felt, until now.

“Gracie, you need to tell me honestly if you think I stand a chance with her. She’s tried to call me a couple of times. I can call her back right now, but I need to know what to say.”

“I can’t tell you that, Iz. But… if you let me say this one thing… I don’t actually think you can compare to someone she’s just met. You _get_ Flo, and she knows that. And if you tell her that, she might still want to give it a shot. It’s not too late, Isa.”

“Thank you,” Isa responds. Somehow she can’t manage to get any more voice out than a strangled whisper. She’s relieved, but she doesn’t want to give in to the feeling too completely: there is no guarantee Florence will want her, now. She might have blown it.

The second Isa hangs up, her display lights up with an incoming call from Florence.

This time, she picks up.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the part that sent me into a crisis because of Isa’s eye colour… I can now reveal that I’ve decided to go for grey eventually as that’s what they seem to be in all the recent photos I’ve seen (when she’s not wearing huge sunglasses)
> 
>  **Also, new disclaimer (stolen from[fictorium](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fictorium/pseuds/fictorium)):** FICTION FICTION WORK OF FICTION. The public entities portrayed in the media have no bearing on the real people. PLEASE ensure this never gets to the real people. And if you don’t like this kind of thing, skip it and keep your judgment to yourself.

__

**I’m not at home with myself - part 8 of 9**

“I need to go,” Isa says to Lena, who’s standing outside the deli, on her second, consecutive cigarette.

“What happened?” Lena asks, taking one last drag before throwing the cigarette butt on the pavement and stomping on it.

“I spoke to Flo. She’s going to meet me at the studio. I have to go _now_ ,” Isa’s fretting now, wanting it to be the moment she sees Flo again and at the same time not wanting to.

Lena nods gravely and hugs Isa, for what’s probably the last time.

“Good luck, bubba. Florence is a fool if she backtracks now. And if anything goes wrong, I’m only at the other end of a phone.”

Isa keeps avoiding eye contact, and her smile is nervous. But she still hugs Lena back and holds on a little longer.

“Thank you, babe. I’ll text you.”

It’s not awkward, but it’s weird: just a few hours ago, they were very much a couple and now they aren’t anymore, and although Lena’s hurting, she knows there is little to do when the person you want loves somebody else. She gets back into the cafe to retrieve her stuff, and watches Isa walk down the high street through the windows. Her head may not be held high, but she’s still a woman on a mission.

Isa replays the conversation in her head. She conveniently failed to tell Lena that Florence was already at the shloft, had been waiting there since midday, in fact. Isa’s familiar enough with Flo’s desperate gestures when she feels guilty, and Flo clearly regrets not telling her about the date before it happened. Isa doesn’t see it as some kind of unforgivable sin, though. Right now, she is too busy using up her energies to persuade herself that she is _not_ on her way to her happily ever after. This is real life. It couldn’t possibly be so simple as Florence saying “I’m sorry, Isa, I see the error of my ways and you’re the only one for me”.

“ _Hey, Flo.” She had said warily, when she’d picked up the phone._

“ _Hi.” Florence had responded, barely over a whisper. “I need to talk to you about something that happened last night. There will be photos…”_

“ _Yes, Flo,” Isa had interrupted. “I’ve seen them.”_

“ _You saw them? Already?” Florence had sounded panicked, almost on the verge of tears. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. I really should have. If you asked me now, I don’t even know why I didn’t. It was stupid.”_

“ _No, Flo, it’s ok,” Isa had said. “You have a right to go out with whoever you want. You don’t need to tell me beforehand, or ask my permission.”_

“ _You’re my best friend. You should have been the first person I told.” Was it hopeless on Isa’s part to wish all this guilt was actually hiding something else?_

“ _Flo, I actually needed to talk to you about something, anyway.” What a huge effort it had been, to get those words out. It’s easy once you get the ball rolling, but it had been hard to breach the subject. “Are you around today?”_

_A beat of awkward silence. Then Florence had said: “I’m actually at the shloft…”_

_It had sounded almost like a question, but it clearly wasn’t. Isa had tried to remember what time the missed calls had come, and if that meant Florence had been waiting at the studio for over an hour._

“ _Flo, are you mental? How long have you been there? Why didn’t you text me?”_

“ _I tried calling you, but you didn’t pick up… I… I didn’t know if you were mad, and if you would want to see me at all.”_

“ _I’m on my way, you idiot,” she said, affectionately. It was weird, how “idiot” became a term of endearment when Florence was involved. Isa was pretty sure Grace used it that way, too. “Give me half an hour, tops.”_

_Florence had quietly agreed. “I might go to the book shop while I wait.”_

“ _That’s a good idea, babe. I’ll come look for you in there. I won’t be long, honey, ok?”_

_Isa had hung up wondering how it was that even when she was falling apart, she was the strong one carrying Florence through whatever guilt and heartache she might be feeling._

Her thoughts bring her just outside the tiny bookstore. She can see Florence’s silhouette inside it, clad in a pair of denim shorts and a paisley blouse. Comfort clothes. Where was her mysterious girl now?

She watches Flo move between the big baskets of used books, and waits eagerly to be noticed. Hidden behind huge sunglasses, her grey eyes take in Flo’s long legs, covered in bruises as usual, as she curses herself for only really appreciating them now. For only admitting to herself too late that she wants to be in Flo’s life as more than just a friend.

As Florence turns to circle yet another dumpbin, she finally sees her; a smile appears on her lips and quickly vanishes, like she’s forgotten for a minute this is supposed to be a tense situation where one best friend has kept something hidden from the other.

Isa instinctively puts her sunglasses on top of her head, wanting to make eye contact, and her smile in return is genuine and hopeful. An awareness envelops her, that no matter how much Florence fucks up, she will always be here to welcome her in her arms.


	9. (conclusion)

Florence hops down the two steps that lead out of the bookshop, in a jaunty way that doesn’t at all match the feeling of doom in her chest. She catches up with Isa, maintaining a respectable distance.

“Shall we walk?”, she asks.

Isa leads the way down the slope in silence, thinking she wants the four walls of her studio around them to protect them, shelter them from the world outside, even though all the pain is going to be trapped indoors, with them.

Florence doesn’t know which one of them should start talking. It was Isa, after all, who said she had something she needed to discuss, but now she’s just walking silently, going up the stairs silently, making tea _silently_. The awkwardness they had felt in Isa’s lounge, when Florence had confessed her feelings, is back.

Isa brings her a mug of steaming tea with milk, and sets it on a coaster on the desk. Florence is in Isa’s ‘executive’ chair, which leaves Isa to sit cross-legged on the rugs that cover the floor.

As hard as it had been to muster the courage to say to Flo ‘I need to tell you something’, it’s even harder to confess what the ‘something’ is. Looking into her tea, Isa murmurs, “You think the problem is that you didn’t tell me about the date. And I’ve already told you, that’s fine. Perfectly within your rights.”

She sighs, and looks up at Florence. “It’s the fact you went on a date that hurt me. I have no right to get hurt, before you tell me that. I know. I’m just telling you – just so you know. It hurt me more than I can say, and that’s when I understood something.”

Florence is holding her breath, not sure what will come next. Hoping, and then again telling herself it’s not possible. Isa has never considered being with her; she’s said so herself.

“I broke up with Lena. Well, she broke up with me. She said I had feelings for you.”

Florence gasps. No, no, no. This is wrong. Isa was supposed to be _happy_ with Lena. Florence was supposed to get out of her way so she could be happy. She did _not_ do this so that they would break up. She did it for the exact opposite reason.

“She’s right.” Isa concludes.

That’s when Flo’s head starts spinning. She is not hearing this right. Her tea is spiked. Isn’t it? It must be. It’s a dream. She’s still drunk from the night before and her subconscious is playing tricks on her. If she shuts her eyes really tight, and opens them again, she will be in her bedroom in Camberwell, with Andrea from last night still sleeping next to her in her clothes from the day before.

She opens her eyes.

Isa’s still there.

-

She starts to cry. It’s the most ridiculous, childish reaction, but all she can think of is _I’m in the wrong now, I went and slept with someone, I should have waited,_ and yet the rational part of her is soothing her, saying _don’t be ridiculous, you’ve done nothing wrong, you couldn’t know if or when Isa would come round_.

She cries for the time that she’s wasted, she cries for the anguish of the last two months, from the moment she first saw Lena in Isa’s arms, to the moment Andrea was touching her and she had closed her eyes and imagined Isa instead. She cries from relief, too, and from hope that maybe the heartache can be over now.

Isa pulls on Flo’s hand, alarmed, wanting to at least hold her while she’s breaking down, even though she’s not exactly sure what she’s said to cause this sort of reaction. Florence slowly slides off the leather chair and onto the floor, and she ponders briefly how sitting on the floor has become a regular feature of all their important conversations.

Isa could fall into the cliché of giving her beloved comfort by kissing her, but it would be so wildly inappropriate to take advantage of Florence while she’s upset, so she just opens her arms, and feels the welcome weight of Florence settle between her shoulder and her cheek.

“Why are you crying, Flo?” She asks; she honestly doesn’t understand. It is a huge effort to keep her hands to herself and not wipe the tears away.

Florence shakes her head and keeps weeping, quietly, not making a scene.

“I fucked up,” she says, by way of explanation, and she could be referring to any number of things.

Isa rocks Flo back and forth calmingly, and aided by the fact that she can’t really look her in the eye – all she sees right now is the top of Flo’s head – she decides to disclose a little confession of her own.

“Well, I fucked up first,” she begins. “Earlier, when I spoke to Lena… she said she knew I was never fully hers. It’s like she could see things I didn’t even know were happening. How the first thing I do every morning is check if I have messages from you; the way I have a box of Lapsang Souchong in my cupboard even though I hate it, just for when you come round.”

Florence cries harder then, and clutches Isa’s top so tight Isa’s afraid she will rip it.

Isa keeps her voice level, like what she’s saying isn’t important at all. Like she’s not talking about the deepest of her feelings.

“Lena said she thought I was being distant because she was my first and I was still adjusting. It was just a lie she told herself, though. She was too scared to ask me if I liked you. Which makes sense, in a way. If it wasn’t for those photos this morning, I might have never realised. And it’s ridiculous, because it’s just been a few hours, but now that I _know_ , Flo, I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. I honestly didn’t. Other people did. People I’ve known for two months.” She finishes, referring to Lena.

Florence pulls away from her and sits a little straighter, still silent, except for the occasional sniff. Once again Isa has to resist the impulse to kiss her, but the proverbial ball is in Florence’s court now. Isa’s done her part, she’s a single woman; Florence is the one who still has loose ends to tie up, and it’s entirely her choice what she does. Isa looks at her, expectant.

“I don’t know if I should regret last night, now.” Flo explains, in a croaky voice. “Because if it brought me closer to you, it can’t be that bad, right?”

“Of course it’s not bad.” Isa says softly, lovingly. “You did what you thought was right.” This next part is hard; Isa gulps before she asks. “Do you want to see that girl again?”

“Not really. It’s horrible, isn’t it. It’s like I’ve used her.” Florence does have an unwavering tendency to blame herself for everything, and this is no different.

“You didn’t promise her another date, did you?” _Please say no, please say no, please say no_ is what Isa hears with every beat of her heart.

“No. No I didn’t. I swear, the minute Grace brought in the paper this morning I couldn’t think about anything other than you. I didn’t even see the paps last night. Bastards.” Florence looks at the floor, trying to collect her thoughts. She’s prone to straying from the subject, but somehow she doesn’t think Isa would appreciate her doing that now.

“She stayed for breakfast, but by that point I’d already seen the photos and I just wanted to get out of the house. If I’m lucky, she’ll see them as well and just drop the whole thing. She’s an up and coming model. Something like that could damage her career.”

“What about _your_ career? If we do this, Flo… it will be me and you in the papers. I can imagine the titles.  ‘Florence cozying up to the Machine!!’ They think they’re so fucking funny.” Isa shakes her head, spiteful. “Do you think you can cope with that?”

“I’ve been coping with that for four years,” Florence shrugs it off. “Can you?”

“I want what you want. If you think you can do it, then I can too.” The placid tone of her voice doesn’t match the resolve Florence can see in her eyes. “I feel like I’ve already wasted so much time…”

They’re still skirting around their desires; they’re talking about it, but they’re not _doing_ anything about it, and anticipation is filling the air in the tiny studio.

“Let me go open the window,” she says, kissing Florence lightly on the forehead. She’s getting closer. One day she’ll have the courage to properly kiss her.

When she returns, Florence is sprawled on the floor, staring at the ceiling. There isn’t much space, but Isa manages to lie down next to her. It’s a good thing someone cleans those rugs once a week.

“Do you remember when we bought that?” Florence says, pointing to a Sylvia Ji print that has pride of place on the studio wall.

Isa does. They were at an art exhibition and the print cost a three-digit figure; “Lungs” had only been out for a few months and was far from recouping its costs, but Florence had totally fallen in love with it, and Isa hadn’t been able to resist her enthusiasm. She had suggested they go half and half and hang it in the shloft. Their place.

Florence turns to look at Isa and smiles. She had wanted the print because it reminded her of Halloween: her favourite holiday and also Isa’s birthday.

Isa is smiling back as she feels a welcome shift: the tension has gone, replaced by the mundane; it’s not just about that one memory, it’s like all the things that connect the two of them have become tangible, and are there in the room. All the experiences they shared and those that, no doubt, they are yet to share. All the objects around them that have a history; all the birthdays they’ve celebrated; all the dates in the calendar.

There is no more awkwardness; only intimacy remains. Flo leans forward slightly and closes her eyes as her lips brush Isa’s in the tenderest of touches. Isa’s hand moves up, cupping Flo’s cheek and stroking her perfect, smooth skin. She feels like she wants to cry, really, like she’s been punched in the stomach. Like someone has released her from a string of bad mistakes, that’s led her to a moment of perfection.

Florence puts an arm around Isa, her other one trapped between her body and the floor, and as they taste each other time and time again she thinks how imperfectly wonderful this is, on the floor of the shloft with the Sylvia Ji print as their only witness. She gently nibbles on Isa’s lips, first the top, then the bottom one, relishing her sharp intakes of breath every time she does something unexpected.

There was never a choice for her to make; there was no risk greater than missing out on this. Whatever the tabloids will say, _bring it_. In fact, if Andrea wants to go to the press and tell them that she had a one night stand with Florence Welch then so be it. This happiness was a long time coming and if there’s a price to pay for it, she’s not afraid.


End file.
